


Three months at the Gravel Pit

by wellperhaps



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, First Time, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, It's Tevinter, It's elfroot, M/M, Modern Thedas, Non-binary character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 11:37:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14212314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellperhaps/pseuds/wellperhaps
Summary: Such was his social life in this small Fereldan town, full of excitement and opportunity. Truly an adventure worth defecting one’s homeland for.Dorian is new to Ferelden. Bull has a big truck. Sera and Lavellan glitter bomb people.Or: Dorian’s Summer Job at the Magical Martial Arts Association





	1. Ferventis

Dorian tried to dust off the worst of the sand from the front of his practice robes. It was a vain effort. Here he was, at the age of twenty-five, acting as a baby-sitter for Fereldan children in an abandoned gravel pit. The thought didn’t raise any particular emotion in him. Perhaps the conflicting emotions cancelled each other out, or perhaps he was simply too tired to care.

The little mages had been what Dorian expected, for the most part. He’d met enough Fereldan magical martial artists at training camps and international competitions to have an idea about how they were trained. In Tevinter they were, of course, considered brutish. They were somehow lacking in both finesse and effectiveness in their casting. Looking at his young charges, Dorian couldn’t completely disagree. However, the children were not at all unruly, but surprisingly disciplined. No-one ever even took out their phone during practice, much less tried any creative spells while his back was turned.

When Dorian himself had been their age, every lesson in whatever subject had been constantly disrupted by the training hall floor turning to ice under someone’s feet, slimy substances suddenly appearing in robe pockets, or static electricity crackling in everyone’s hair. And martial arts lessons, due to their competitive and aggressive nature, had seen the worst cases of magical misconduct. None of that here. No, these Fereldan students seemed very shy about using their magic even when he asked them to. What they lacked in magic, though, they made up in other aspects of their training. When they were doing combat without magic, using only their bodies and staffs, they were ruthless. Scarily so. The youngest of the little monsters were only eleven, and they already screamed battle-cries like, well, like Fereldans.

To be honest, Dorian much preferred to send his students home a bit bruised rather than a bit burned. It helped with the parents. He was after all the Tevinter immigrant with tailor-made training gear and a somewhat vague personal history. A natural scapegoat in the eyes of Fereldan suburban moms and dads. He didn’t want to have to explain how little Anora (any of the three) had gotten her blonde curls singed on his watch.

Right now the anoras and alistairs, along with the slightly more creatively named elven children, were gathering their staffs and water bottles. They scurried to the container offices that served as locker rooms, and from there into the gray and teal SUV’s already waiting for them some distance away. The parents never parked their cars very close to the practice area. 

Magical martial arts in Ferelden didn’t have the same prestige as it did in Tevinter. This Dorian had known. However, he had not been prepared to train his students at an old gravel pit. The targets and other necessary structures were mostly made or repaired by Dorian, with the help of an unenthusiastic summer worker. It was an experience he did not want to repeat any time soon. At least the container office reserved for mentors, or ”coaches”, as the Fereldans liked to say, had a working shower. Dorian had now lived in his downtown apartment for long enough to get his first water bill. It had come as a bit of a shock. 

Dorian took his time in the shower. He put on his more sensible street clothes and did what he could to arrange his hair. There should at least be a blow drier. He stepped out of the office container just in time to see a small battered car appear from behind the pine trees. It veered into the pit with considerable speed.  
The car slid to a halt, raising a cloud of dust that plastered itself all over Dorian’s face and onto his wet hair. Two young elves jumped out of the car.  
”Hey comrade! This the target practice place?” said the one with dark skin and hair dyed an unfortunate shade of red.  
The blonde one slammed the car door, impatient. ”It’s the place! There’s targets, yeah? It’s the place.”  
”Um.” said Dorian, as the elves started to pull huge carrier bags out of the tiny car and carry them towards the targets.

 

*

 

The sand pit wasn’t bad at all. Lavellan had been expecting to find a little clearing by the side of the road, with some pine trees to shoot at. This was much better. The pit was actually quite big. Lavellan and Sera could do all kinds of setups all over the slopes. There were container barracks, even! They could store some of their stuff in one of them. Yeah, as archery practice spots in this town went, this was great. Lavellan should really call and thank the city administrator lady. And wrangle a key to the containers from her.  
Lavellan set their bag down carefully and went to inspect the weird-looking targets. Some of them looked… scorched. Lavellan poked one. A bit wobbly, but they could always prop them up with rocks or something. The tall human with the dusty moustache walked up to Lavellan as they were kicking some dirt under one unstable target leg.  
”Excuse me! Those belong to the Magical Martial Arts Association.” 

”Alright? We’re just gonna use them for archery practice. We have our own target faces so don’t worry about that. Nothing wrong with the stuff you’ve got painted here. Very nice… amoebas? Very red.”  
The mustached human stared at him.  
”That is a rage demon symbol. It is traditional for practicing spells from the winter elemental tree.” he said, with a suddenly very heavy Tevene accent.  
Lavellan looked the human over and let their eyes rest on his leather shoes. They were very nice, and very impractical for practicing anything in a sand pit. Or in a tree, for that matter.  
”Right, yeah, of course. Hey, buddy, you got a key to the barracks?”

 

*

 

Dorian did not open the office containers for the blighted archers, nor did he engage in any further conversation with them. Instead, he hoisted his pack and his staff holster on his back and started walking towards the bus stop. ”I’ll just piss on the ground then!” the red-haired elf shouted to his back, accompanied by crude sounds from the blonde one. Dorian was going to have to make some calls about this, he was sure. To whom, he didn’t really know, since no-one seemed to care very much about what went on at the borrow pit. 

The city had a responsibility to arrange a certain amount of magical practice opportunities for its underage mage population during their summer vacation from their Circles. Since he was the only applicant with any real qualifications for magical education, the job was his, four days a week during the summer holiday. He didn’t really have a boss, or co-workers. The kids were Dorian’s only company, really. And now, apparently, some Maker-forsaken archers.

In the end, Dorian sent an e-mail to the city office and got a reply some days later. It didn’t really address any of the concerns he had voiced about non-mages loitering at the practice site. The archers apparently had permission to be there, and they had now also been given a key to the office containers. Great. Dorian hoped they would get bored and go shoot their arrows somewhere else.  
They did not. Instead, they kept coming back several times a week. They had enough sense to stay some distance away from the magic-wielding children, and to not point their arrows towards them, but that was about it. They were extremely noisy and sometimes inappropriate. They did weird stunts while shooting, and their practice often resembled parkour more than archery. Not that Dorian cared, but he had to keep an eye out for them in case their antics threatened to disrupt his teaching. After the kids had left, they often loitered about Dorian’s person, asking him questions about magic and refusing to clear away their miscellaneous possessions that now littered Dorian’s container.

 

*

 

The bus was late. Or Dorian was late for the bus. Who could even tell, with these buses that circled leisurely around these sparsely populated wastelands filled mostly with pine trees and ugly gray warehouses. There was a water stained time table stapled to the bus stop, another in Dorian’s pack, and a third on his phone. As far as Dorian could tell, none of them matched any actual arrival times of the buses. 

Anyhow, Dorian had now been standing at the bus stop for quite some time. Public transport was steadily climbing up on Dorian’s list of things he hated about his life in Ferelden. Well. It wasn’t as if he was expected anywhere. He had been hoping to use the laundry in his building before it got overrun in the evening by people returning from work. In the daytime there were only the elderly people, like the lovely dwarwen lady who had once or twice asked him to help fold her bedsheets and who had complimented his nail polish. Such was his social life in this small Fereldan town, full of excitement and opportunity. Truly an adventure worth defecting one’s homeland for.  
His boredom was broken by the sound of a car approaching. It was the archers in their absolutely disgraceful tin can. Dorian didn’t know much about cars, but he was sure they weren’t supposed to sound like that. The car pulled over to the bus stop. 

“Hey, you going downtown? Want a ride?” 

“Come on come on! Get in and stop talking, it’s the best part! One minute and forty-seven seconds to the best part!” said the blonde one from the passenger’s seat and wiggled herself head first into the back seat.

“Maker’s arse”, said Dorian, and got in. 

The car was even more filthy on the inside than on the outside. Dorian pushed empty soda cans and fast food wrappings around with his foot. The air freshener swinging on the rear-view mirror tried its best, but Dorian knew elfroot when he smelled it. The music was decent, at least. Some sort of mellow, pleasantly simple pop rock sung with a fake Anderfels accent. “The best part” turned out to be a long silence in the middle of the song, filled only by the sound of birds singing. Dorian opened his mouth to comment on it but was silenced by an urgent glare from the redhead. Abruptly, the song started up again, and the blonde slapped his shoulder. “See! The best part! And you didn’t ruin it! So where do you even live?” 

 

*

 

That was how Dorian found himself stuck with the elves. Sera and Lavellan had an apartment (or at least some sort of confusing couch/roommate situation) not very far from Dorian’s building. They also had a very flexible schedule and a surprising enthusiasm for befriending Dorian. Dorian made a habit of texting Lavellan his work schedule. More often than not, the green car would pull over to the bus stop to take him to the gravel pit, saving Dorian from the horrors of public transport. He offered to pay for this unorthodox taxi service, but his access to a free laundry turned out to be a blessing more valuable than gas money. Occasionally after practice they would drive to Dorian’s building, put a load of laundry on, and go for a drink at the bar one building over. 

The first time they did this he had been a bit nervous about walking into the extremely uncivilized looking sports bar with Lavellan. Lavellan was tiny even for an elf, their mass of red hair was braided with feathers and glittery beads, and they wore heavy makeup that drew attention even more than their vallaslin did. Dorian, with his (objectively more tasteful) makeup and his Tevinter accent, was also a potential target for xenophobes and assholes. As an accomplished magical fighter, he wasn’t exactly concerned for his personal safety. He still wasn’t interested in getting involved in a skirmish. He had his uncertain immigration status to consider. 

However, when Lavellan and Sera had marched into the bar with an air of absolute unconcern, Dorian hadn’t felt it was his place to say anything. His worries turned out to be unwarranted. The bartender was friendly, even when Sera tried to pay for her drink with black flag pins. The regulars, mostly humans and dwarves well into their drinks, didn’t pay attention to anything but the television screen. The beer tasted as bad as it should. 

Dorian told Sera and Lavellan that he was in Ferelden as an asylum seeker. He had defected during a magical martial arts goodwill tour in Calenhad. His disappearance was an embarrassment for his family and for the Minrathous Circle varsity team. They had kept quiet during the event to avoid an international incident, and by the time the event was over, Dorian was already far enough inland to avoid capture. 

Lavellan told Dorian that they had just returned from an international tour of their own, as trick archers of the Magnificent Mabari Circus. Sera made noises that indicated that it wasn’t maybe all that magnificent.

“And, international my arse. We went to Orlais one time!” 

“Well, at least you fucked that Rivaini-Antivan guitarist in Amaranthine. That was an international experience, right?”

“Oh shit, yeah. You’re right. She was more fun than Orlais, that’s for sure. Horny for a Qunari.” said Sera.

“Ugh.” said Lavellan. “For that, you’re going to jail.”

And so it went, until Ferventis turned into Solis, and the green car gave up the ghost.


	2. Solis

The green car stood at the edge of the pit with its hood open. Dorian, Sera and Lavellan watched as white smoke rose from the engine. Dorian was the first to break the silence.

“So. I certainly don’t claim to be an expert on these matters, but this seems a somewhat unfortunate behavior for a car to demonstrate. Not that the car as a whole wasn’t already quite unfortunate.”

“Unfortu-shite. Just wait ‘till it cools down and then pour some water in the unheating thingy. It’s just the thingy that leaks, no big.”

Lavellan shook their head. “Yes, but how can it overheat when I just turned the key? It didn’t have time to even start properly. It can’t overheat like that in two seconds!”

“Because the thingy! Leaked and was empty. Then, whoosh!”

“You know who we should call?” 

“Yes! No! He’s going to be so pissed. Fuckity-fuck we should have sent the postcard. The one with the baby dragons and the pink bike. Oh shit now there’s goo.”  
The steam cloud had evaporated, and Dorian could see there was indeed some sort of yellow goo bubbling from inside a plastic tank in the engine. Dorian took a step back. Lavellan was already on the phone.

 

*

 

There was an unbelievably huge Qunari peering into the engine of the tiny car. Sera was sitting on the roof of the car, making increasingly unhelpful suggestions. Lavellan was leaning against the passenger door with a resigned look on their face. 

Dorian did not consider himself an uncultured or inexperienced man. However, he hadn’t had many interactions with the Qunari. What with his country being in a never-ending war with them and all. There were of course some Qunari living in the city. Probably at least as many as there were Tevinters. None of them were quite like this one.  
Everything about him was massive. The pick-up truck he had arrived in was massive. His horns were massive, spanning nearly the whole width of the hood of the green car. The damage that had happened to his face was extensive. When they’d shook hands, his hand had covered Dorian’s entirely.

“The Iron Bull. Nice to meet you.” Even his name was absurdly imposing. Dorian only barely managed to keep his voice steady while introducing himself. He was relieved when the man didn’t comment on his accent.

Predictably, the damage to the car was also massive. Dorian heard words like “fluids mixing” and “head gasket”, but in truth, he wasn’t all that interested. The car was clearly a lost cause. Dorian wondered idly if he should start walking to the bus stop. He was absolutely out of his comfort zone. There was no social protocol for when you were stuck in a borrow pit with two queer elves, a hulking Qunari and a dying car with yellow goo bleeding from its innards.

“Sorry, but there’s no point in fixing this. It would cost more than the car. When is this due for inspection?” The Iron Bull asked.

Lavellan and Sera exchanged a guilty look. 

“For shit’s sake. Have you been driving around in an uninspected car? Well, this is what you get. Let’s just tow it to the garage. Krem might give you a few sovereigns for it. He’s weird like that.”

 

*

 

Dorian got to ride shotgun in The Iron Bull’s truck. The truck cab was big enough that The Iron Bull’s giant horns didn’t pose a danger to Dorian. Sera and Lavellan were sitting in the green car, being towed behind the truck. They made horrible faces and gleeful rude gestures at Dorian whenever he turned to look at them. Sera pretended to abruptly turn the steering wheel towards every ongoing car.

The Iron Bull had explained the plan to Dorian. The Iron Bull was going to tow the car to his garage, where his friend Krem could deal with it. There the Iron Bull was going to offer Dorian a seat and a drink, and then the Iron Bull was going to have some words with Sera and Lavellan. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get you home in two hours or so. Or if you’re in a hurry, we can always just unhook the elves and I’ll take you home right now.” His voice was low and sort of rough, but there was an undercurrent of gentle humor in his tone.

The Iron Bull’s truck smelled clean. So did The Iron Bull. Dorian feared that he himself, after spending several hours at the borrow pit, wasn’t up to standard. It was a somewhat novel feeling. Especially after spending so much time with Sera and Lavellan. The air conditioning was on and the leather seats were comfortable. Dorian felt, well, not exactly relaxed, but like the situation was in control. The Iron Bull seemed like a person who could be trusted to handle these types of occurrences. And since Dorian was being offered a drink and a ride, he saw no reason to complain. 

The garage turned out to be an old brick barn converted into a garage big enough to fit several shiny vintage cars. There was also a more mundane looking SUV that was hoisted on a jack. Dorian met Krem, who was to his surprise also from Tevinter. The classic cars belonged to him. The Iron Bull took Sera and Lavellan outside, leaving Dorian to wait in the garage with Krem. 

“Sera and Lavellan took off some months ago and forgot to let Bull know.” Krem said, in Tevene. “He’s going to tell them he’s not mad, just disappointed. They’re going to pretend they’re sorry.” He sat down next to Dorian on the old leather sofa. “I’m going to buy the car from them. It’s shit, but it has decent tires on it.” 

Dorian leaned back on the couch. The afternoon sunlight was warm on his face. He watched small flecks of dust dance in a light beam. Fresh air was flowing through the open space. The garage smelled vaguely of motor oil and moss. Dorian was in no hurry to go anywhere. He listened to Krem talk about his and Bull’s business venture. They installed some sort of environmentally friendly fuel systems to cars. They both had a day job doing something else, and right now the business only covered the garage’s expenses. Krem seemed to have a lot of faith in their operation and was hoping they could expand it. Dorian couldn’t say he really cared, but it was nice to converse in Tevene.

Krem had also arrived in Ferelden as an asylum seeker. “It’s not impossible. You have a job, right? That’s good. There aren’t many of us here south of the Waking Sea, so they’re more relaxed about the regulations than in the Free Marches. Everything’s fucking slow this time of the year, though. The summer is short, and nobody here does any work when it’s warm. I don’t think anyone will even look at your application before All Soul’s Day.” 

Krem had a distinct Soporati accent that had been spiced by the years he’d spent in the South. He didn’t seem to begrudge Dorian for being an Altus, so Dorian felt he could just enjoy his company and the bottle of beer The Iron Bull had handed him. It tasted like herbs and chili and reminded him of home. He wanted to know what was in it, but the label was in Qunlat. 

Dorian was beginning to suspect that finding comfort in unlikely places was going to be a constant in his new life.

 

*

 

Since the regrettable green car was out of commission, Dorian was back to relying on public transportation. So were Sera and Lavellan, who grumbled about the money and had a hard time being confined to somebody else’s timetables. They now only managed to get themselves to the pit once or twice a week, but they made up for it by showing up to Dorian’s doorstep every now and again. Sometimes with laundry, and sometimes with alcohol. 

Dorian disliked his housing situation intensely. Certainly, he was grateful he had a place to sleep, but that didn’t mean he didn’t hate it. The tiny studio apartment had only one window, but still managed to get oppressively hot in the afternoons if he forgot to close the curtains. He had spent a lot of time trying to get rid of the musty smell in the bathroom and the odd dark muck around the baseboards. The apartment would never be pretty, but at least it was now clean. 

On this particular evening the chemical smell of cleaner was competing with the earthier smells of elfroot and Sera. She was curled in Dorians bed, snoring softly. Lavellan and Dorian were sitting on the floor and passing around a bottle of something black that tasted like salt and self-hate. 

“Fasta vass. How can you drink this?”

“It’s a Fereldan classic for underage drinking. We’re just too old to appreciate it. You have to drink it since it’s a vital part of your cultural education. I’m doing it for solidarity. For misspent youth!” Lavellan declared and took a swig. 

“I can drink to that, at least.” 

“You should’ve tasted the stuff we drank in Redcliffe. It tasted like rotten bananas soaked in nug piss. Sera got the bottle from a girl who glitter bombed an Orlesian Marquise with her. It was in the local news. I think they still text. The booze was horrible, though.”

“I’m not sure I would have survived the experience. Ah, Lavellan? Forgive me if I’m being rude or obtuse, but I take it you and Sera are not an item?”

“Nah. We’re not like that. We’re a team. Sera’s only into people with tits. And of course, I can’t date people who can impersonate Alice Glass better than me.”

“Of course.” Dorian could rarely tell when Lavellan was joking. He suspected they did it on purpose. “I must admit, I don’t really know how people go about these things in Ferelden. I only know that things are… better.”

“Fenedhis, Dorian. Don’t get heavy on me, I’m a crier. This is not Tevinter, alright. Things are better. If you’re asking about dating and stuff, I don’t know, I just make everything up as I go. But listen, no matter what Sera says when she’s in a mood, it’s good here. I’m happy you’re here.” Lavellan took another swig and made a face at the taste.

Dorian didn’t trust his voice enough to say anything. He leaned back against the bed. The door to his apartment was locked, but even if it were not, they were safe here. He could sit here like this. With his friends, these elves of uncertain gender, orientation and character, and talk about whatever he wanted. About glitter bombing the Orlesian nobility. There wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it. He took the bottle and drank again. It was still horrible. He’d take it.

*

Dorian had a problem. He had received an e-mail from the chairperson of the local Magical Martial Arts Association. Apparently, in Matrinalis, the MMAA was to organize a traditional summer event. In addition to the three different categories of MMA matches, there was to be a combat demonstration by enchanter level mages, a performance by the younger apprentices, and, to top it all off, a barbeque. As the one and only employee of the local MMAA, the job of organizing this spectacle fell to Dorian in its entirety. 

Dorian was not opposed to problem solving. He was also not opposed to working hard and meeting tight deadlines with nonexistent resources. He was, however, extremely opposed to this sort of incompetent management that succeeded in being both distant and micromanaging at the same time. The chairperson had attached several files to the email. They were photos of yellowing manual pages, containing instructions to MMA event organizing. They included detailed recommendations on whether it was better to use thumbtacks or masking tape to attach score sheets to tables and trees. Dorian read them, took a deep breath, and then made an executive decision to pretend he’d never seen them. He contemplated the merits of falling into a depressive episode, but eventually decided against it. Instead, he googled the number for Ataashi Fuel Systems Company.

“Hello? Cremisius? Yes, it’s Dorian Pavus. We met the other day over the incident involving unreliable cars and elves. I have a business proposition for you.”

As it turned out, Krem was very on board with Dorian’s ideas. Unfortunately, he was also extremely busy with work. The Iron Bull, on the other hand, was on holiday. So that’s who Dorian called next.

Dorian would have been more than happy to brainstorm over the phone, but The Iron Bull wouldn’t have it. He picked Dorian up in his truck, and instead of driving them to the garage, they went to The Iron Bull’s place. He lived in a spacious row house apartment that was about the size Dorian’s rooms in his family home had been. It was infinitely more appealing than Dorian’s current apartment. 

The living room was dominated by a terrarium that was the size of Dorian’s bathroom. It was home to two bearded dragons. It was clear that The Iron Bull had put a lot of thought and effort into building the habitat. 

“I thought about adopting a dog. I work long hours sometimes, so I adopted the dragons instead.”

“If your business takes off, you could make your own hours. The garage could use a guard Mabari.” Dorian said and smiled as one of the beasts yawned. They were really rather fascinating.

“I’m partial to Goldendoodles. But yeah, you’re right.” 

*

The Iron Bull didn’t strike Dorian as the event planning type. Dorian couldn’t claim it was his favorite activity, either, but with Bull it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. They drank iced tea from tall glasses and tried to come up with a plan of action. Bull had some strange ideas involving oil barrels and car tires that Dorian steadfastly dismissed. He also had extensive local knowledge and some original thoughts that were possibly worth further consideration. After some hours they had hammered out a decently solid outline for the upcoming event. They ate fish salad that Bull referred to as leftovers and was a bit apologetic about. Dorian didn’t find it necessary to mention that it was probably the healthiest thing he had eaten in weeks. The dressing was seasoned with something vaguely familiar he hadn’t tasted since crossing the Waking Sea. 

Bull’s kitchen was spotlessly clean, if a little austere. Possibly in an attempt of interior decorating, he had placed a house plant on the table. One of the leaves had wilted. Bull snapped it off with his thumb and forefinger, very carefully. Dorian hadn’t really noticed before that Bull was missing fingers. The missing eye and the extensive scarring on his face drew more attention. 

A Qunari and a Tevinter mage walk into a Fereldan row house, thought Dorian. 

When it got late, Bull took him home. 

“We should do this again sometime.” Bull said as Dorian was getting out of the car. 

“Yes, you’re right. As soon as possible, if that’s alright with you. We made good progress, but we don’t have much time. I would prefer to stay ahead in case there are setbacks. Get back to me when you’ve made those phone calls. I will bother the MMAA people. We should have everything more or less in order within the week.” 

“Sure. I’ll call you.”


	3. Matrinalis

As Solis turned to Matrinalis, a heat wave hit Ferelden. Dorian was pleased, since he now had an opportunity to wear his favorite light shirts and to admire how a flock of freckles slowly invaded Sera’s face. Not that he had much time for admiring anything, since the event planning effort had kept him busy for weeks. 

Dorian had arranged extra practice sessions for the apprentices and scolded them for their lethargic offensive spells and for the sorry state of their formal robes. On the positive side, they were very enthusiastic about the upcoming event, and he was quite pleased with their overall progress. After some strictly worded emails about the honor of the Fereldan Circles and the importance of setting a good example, Dorian had managed to round up a few local senior mages. They had agreed to put together a MMA demonstration, sparing Dorian the trouble. They had even yielded to taking part in mentoring sessions with Dorian after he had given them a lecture about their lethargic offensive spells and the sorry state of their formal robes.

On most evenings, Bull picked Dorian up from the pit, and they went to the garage or to Bull’s place. There were a lot of details to consider, but Bull had plenty of contacts and a good grasp on how to handle the necessary permits and other formalities. Krem, Lavellan and Sera joined them sometimes, but they lacked either the time or the patience to stay over for long.

Today it was just him and Bull. As the weather continued to be agreeable, Dorian was happy sit on the steps of Bull’s back porch. Bull sat down next to him, carrying two bottles of the pleasantly spicy Qunari beer. Instead of accepting the bottle Bull handed him, Dorian reached out and touched his fingers to both bottles. A gentle frost spread over them, cooling them in an instant. 

The Iron Bull jerked, and Dorian just barely managed to steady the bottles before they dropped from Bull’s hands. Bull recovered instantly, and Dorian quickly withdrew his hands. 

“Oh. My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“Yeah. It’s nothing. Good save.” Bull placed the bottles between them. He took a deep breath and gave Dorian an apologetic smile.

“It was barely a party trick, you know.” Dorian said. “Just something one does, not unlike using the bottle opener.”

“Don’t have much use for bottle openers” countered The Iron Bull. He took the other bottle, pressed the cap into the underside of his gigantic forearm and twisted. The cap came off with a pop. Bull offered the bottle to Dorian with a solemn nod.

“You are a child” said Dorian but accepted the offering. Bull shrugged and opened the other bottle by simply twisting the cap off with his thumb. He didn’t even have the decency to flinch. Dorian shook his head in exasperation.

They sat in silence for a while and enjoyed the beer and the evening sunlight. It was all very pleasant. It was really all too easy for Dorian to fuck it up, so that’s what he did.  
“Were you in Seheron? Is that where you got injured?” Dorian said, startling himself.

Bull looked at him, surprise written clearly on his scarred face. It took a moment for him to answer.

“That’s right. I did three tours in Seheron. Then I was done with that shithole and the whole bloody Qun. I haven’t been north of the Waking Sea in ten years. Is this really something you want to talk about, Tevinter?”

No, it was not. But by now Dorian’s brain had caught up with his mouth, and there was no helping it.

“In case you haven’t noticed, we are arranging an event with the sole purpose of letting people show off their magical combat prowess. A vast majority of those people are underage apprentices under my charge. Just now I managed to scare you by cooling your beer. So yes, this is something I must talk about, whether I want to or not.”

Bull sighed. “That’s fair. Not all Seheron vets can say the same, but I’m fine with magic. The ice trick just surprised me.” He turned to look at Dorian. Dorian wondered how old he was. It was hard to tell. “It’s a big responsibility you have, your kids. You were right to ask. They have nothing to worry about from me.”

Dorian shook his head. “I should have thought of this earlier. It just didn’t occur to me that you… it didn’t seem likely that… well. The issue is settled. Thank you.” 

The Iron Bull snorted. “Yeah, good talk.”

Dorian watched Bull pry the label free from the bottle. It came off whole, and Bull folded it over until it was in the shape of a neat little cube. It did not seem possible to Dorian that any child could be in any kind of danger in the presence of The Iron Bull. 

They sat in silence and finished their beers. At some point Bull got up to get the bearded dragons from their enclosure. He placed one lizard on his shoulder, and the other on Dorian’s lap. The little dragon peered up at him with bright eyes. A curious creature, comfortable in an environment that should have been completely alien to it. Dorian ran his finger along its back just to feel the ridges on its skin.

They didn’t talk any more about Seheron. Dorian found himself hoping that the assault that had gotten Bull injured hadn’t been a magical one. Not that it should matter to him either way. 

*

“Anora! Your thumb! How many times… no, not you, you just worry about your mana flow. Yes, that’s better. Maker, Leonas, what has happened to your focusing crystal? Do you have a handkerchief? Oh, never mind, it doesn’t matter, you are the dragon after all. Alright, remember, you are all very capable and everything is going to go just fine. I will be sitting at the front. If you feel nervous, just look at me and pretend that this is just another Wednesday practice. Have fun out there. I’m very proud of you all.” Dorian barely knew what he was saying. The words were flowing out of him, but in truth he felt like he might be suffering from a heat stroke. 

Dorian left the apprentices to their assigned places and took his seat. He looked around and tried to relax. Everything looked fine. Krem, Sera and some of the senior mages had done a good job building the necessary structures of the arena. At the far end of the ring stood the unfortunate green car, given new life as the head of a giant dragon. Lavellan had done the paintjob, with the helpful zoological commentary from Bull. Krem had welded on some details to enhance the likeness. He had topped it off with attaching an impressive crest onto the roof of the whole contraption. One could hardly tell it was made from the rusty tailpipe of the car.

Bull was acting as a master of ceremonies. He didn’t need a microphone for his voice to carry over the area where people were wandering between the merch stalls. He was wearing a black t-shirt with a dragon logo on it. It was obviously made from very stretchy material, but Bull’s shoulders still seemed to push the fabric to its absolute limit. Dorian thought absently that Bull most likely had to have his dress shirts tailor-made. If he had any. 

“On behalf of the MMAA and The Ataashi Fuel Systems Company, let the games begin!” announced The Iron Bull. Dorian took a drink from his water bottle. His hands were sweating. If he survived this day, he was going to bother Lavellan for some elfroot, immigration office be damned.

Bull sat down next to Dorian and smiled at him. He was clean shaven, possibly to seem more respectable to the suburban parents in attendance. Then the little mages, dressed as great heroes of the Dragon Age, marched out and took their places on the arena. There was a lot of delighted sighing and giggling coming from the audience. Fereldans did love their historical reenactment. 

The show itself was somewhat chaotic, but very lively. There was an abundance of battle cries. Several flickering wisps wobbled about the stage. An elven queen in Grey Warden armor gave an impressively earnest speech about freedom and equality. A cardboard box was levitating unsteadily in the air before her, and she blew it up with a spell. Green glitter exploded from the box and rained all over the stage. Dorian found the symbolism a bit confusing but who was he to argue with Southern traditions? As the play reached its final confrontation, a rather impressive roar sounded out from the maw of the rusty dragon. It was followed by a perhaps little less impressive burst of flame, and then a cloud of steam as the brave Wardens hit the dragon with their frost spells. 

The steam kept on rising. Some of the Wardens started to look a bit concerned. Dorian heard Sera cackle from somewhere behind him. With a resigned sigh, Dorian cast a discreet barrier over the dragon, containing the steam and smothering any residue fire.

With this second death of the green car, the enactment was concluded. Bull was hollering and clapping with genuine enthusiasm, along with a good portion of the audience. Dorian couldn’t help but to let the glee seize him as well. The little glitter-covered apprentices were really extraordinarily cute, bowing to the audience with their staves pointing every which way. Dorian rose from his seat and found himself being hugged by several very short heroes of Thedas.

*

Finally, the event was over. The competitions and the demonstrations were concluded, the winners awarded, and the losers placated. The merchants had cleared away their tables. Krem and Bull had packed up their brochures. The healers on mandatory emergency duty had congratulated Dorian on having to heal zero burns and only one sprained ankle. (That had been little Katriel, trying to imitate the impressive jumps Sera and Lavellan had made during their trick archery show.)

They were all lounging on the roof of an office container, trying to wind down. Sera, Lavellan and Dorian were swiping left on Lavellan’s phone. Krem and Bull were going through paperwork. 

“Two orders for a fuel system and seven for a compatibility check. Kaffas. That’s a lot.” Krem said.

“It must be if you’re swearing in Tevene” The Iron Bull noted. 

“And that’s just the ones that made an actual booking. I bet there’s going to be more after they have a chance to google us.”

Bull and Krem sounded pleased. Dorian was also pleased. Everything had gone well. The chairpersons of the MMAA had been impressed. The children had been exultant and their parents proud. Ataashi Fuel Systems Company was going to become a household name among the SUV driving suburbanites. Well, eventually. There were already several Instagram pictures tagged #GreenAtaashi making the rounds. Most of them featured the dragon car. Dorian wasn’t sure if pictures of a scorched car were the best way to market fuel system installations, but Bull seemed delighted by them.

“Okay, I’m off. I want to make sure our online form is working right.” Krem said and got up. 

“Take someone with you. My truck can only fit two. Unless Sera wants to ride the dragon back home.” said Bull and winked at her.

“Ugh, that’s nasty. You’re the one with the dragon thing. I’m going with Krem because you’re nasty. Lavellan, let’s go before Dorian makes us empty the bins.” Sera said and vaulted off the roof, followed by Lavellan, who saluted Bull on their way over the edge.

Krem sighed and gathered his papers into his messenger bag.

“Should I levitate you down?” asked Dorian. Krem shot him a look and started to climb down the ladder. 

*

“You do seem to have a dragon thing” noted Dorian. They were still sitting on the roof, eating sandwiches and chocolate bars left over from the buffet. The sun was slowly setting behind the pine trees. Bull barked a laugh.

“I might. Not like that, though. I just think they’re great. Self-sufficient. Not afraid of anything.”

“Capable of burning you to ash. Yes. Very appealing.”

“Yeah.”

Bull had changed out of his company t-shirt and into a tank top. He had a tattoo on his shoulder. Dorian scooted over to take a better look. He had a dragon joke ready on his tongue, but the tattoo wasn’t, after all, a dragon. It was some ornate symbol he did not recognize. He reached out to touch it.

“We have been out here all day. How is it that you still smell so nice?” And how was it that his tongue didn’t take any direction from his brain these days? The South must be messing with his head. 

Dorian was still staring at his fingers on Bull’s shoulder, when there was a hand on Dorian’s cheek. It covered almost half of Dorians face. Dorian looked up. Bull’s face was really very close to him.

Oh, thought Dorian, and closed the distance between them. 

Dorian was not one for chaste little kisses. He tried to lick his way into Bull’s mouth, but Bull’s hand was still on his face, holding him back. Dorian reached up to stroke Bull’s temple just below his horn. Bull sighed and moved away. Just an inch, but still. 

“Dorian? This what you want to do?” 

Dorian didn’t entirely understand the question. He rather preferred to not think too hard about what he was doing. 

“Kiss me.” 

That seemed to be the right thing to say. Bull moved his hand to cradle Dorian’s head, and this time Bull’s lips yielded under Dorian’s. Dorian straddled Bull’s thigh and ran his hand along his shoulder. Bull’s skin felt perhaps a little different than a human’s. Dorian guessed it would take a lot to bruise him. Bull was warm and solid under him. After a few moments of pressing their bodies together, Bull was not a cautious kisser either. Dorian found himself lifted by the hips until he was fully in Bull’s lap, his legs tangled under him. Like he weighted nothing. 

Well. That was certainly something.

Bull slid his hands up Dorian’s sides, under his shirt, but instead of taking it off, he seemed content just to pet Dorian. Dorian felt a bit impatient. He took his shirt off himself and rolled his hips against Bull. That earned him a questioning look.

“Here?”

Where else? Dorian had certainly fucked in worse places. The roof was warm and there was nobody around for miles. 

“Unless you object?” 

“No. Just. You in a hurry?”

Dorian straightened himself enough to meet Bull’s gaze. Bull looked worried for some reason. Had Dorian read the situation wrong somehow? At this point it didn’t seem possible. After all, here he was, sitting in The Iron Bull’s lap. In Ferelden, where he could absolutely fuck an ex-Qunari soldier on top of an office container if he so wished. 

Bull’s hands were still on Dorian, but he had stopped stroking him. Dorian considered getting up. He felt embarrassed for some reason. Bull was his friend. No matter what would happen here, he would see Bull again and spend time with him, together with their other friends. 

“I… I suppose there is no hurry. I simply thought that this was what we were doing.”

“Hey. If you want, we can talk about it. Or go to my place. Whatever you want, Dorian. Fuck, you’re so hot. But I don’t want to…”

Dorian fixed Bull with a look that shut him up. Maker save him. This was really not the time for blithering.

“What I want is to suck you off on this Maker-forsaken roof. Can that be arranged? If so, stop talking and take your pants off.” 

The Iron Bull managed a small nod.

So that was what they did. Dorian lay sprawled over Bull’s leg, figuring out what was different and what was familiar. The effort required was somewhat more than what he was used to, but Dorian was nothing if not ambitious.

“Oh, fuck. Dorian. I’m going to, can I”

The Iron Bull certainly could. 

There must be some differences in human and Qunari biochemistry, Dorian thought, after, as he licked his lips. He was not averse to further investigation. Cultural exchange was, after all, the reason he was here at all.

*

The incident on the roof didn’t really change anything. Matrinalis went on, and so did the heat wave. After office hours, Krem and Bull were usually busy at the garage, so that’s where Dorian, Lavellan and Sera went to hang out. Dorian didn’t want to spend any time cooped up in his cramped, sweltering apartment, after all, and he was no longer as busy with the MMAA. 

Dorian was now lying on a quilt with Lavellan, on the lawn outside the garage. They were eating grapes and being as useless as possible as other people engaged in manual labor. Sera and Bull had removed a tire from Sera’s new car and were now doing something complicated to its underside. The activity had caused The Iron Bull to lose his shirt, so Dorian approved. 

There had maybe been one or two subsequent incidents after the one in the gravel pit. One had involved The Iron Bull’s truck, and the other, if one chose to count it, some enthusiastic kissing against the garage wall. Oh, well. One must have something to occupy one’s day’s with.

Lavellan was grinning at Dorian. They must have noticed him ogling, even though Dorian was wearing his sunglasses of plausible deniability. Dorian found he didn’t terribly mind.

“So. Forgive me if I’m being rude or obtuse, but are you and Bull an item?” 

“Andraste save me from cheeky elves. No. We’re just two lonely men, forced far from our Northern homelands by tragic circumstances, seeking some temporary solace in each other’s arms. It’s all terribly dramatic.” 

Lavellan laughed and shook their head but didn’t comment on it further. Dorian offered them a grape. 

*

There was still no news from the immigration office. Dorian found himself growing restless very easily. He went running in the early mornings and played inane games on his phone in the evenings. He even let Sera drag him to an abysmal rock concert where everyone was horribly friendly and tactile. The smell clung to Dorian’s hair for days.

He had been job hunting ever since he had arrived in Ferelden, and now he was scrolling through his job search apps several times a day. The start of the school year was rapidly approaching, and so was the end of his arrangement with the local MMAA. The MMA event had earned him some new private training clients, but that only meant he didn’t have to use his savings quite as much. He would have been willing to relocate to Denerim or some other larger city if a job opportunity presented itself, but the whole country’s job market seemed very slow. As Krem had told him, nothing happened in Ferelden before Summerday. Of course, if his application would fall through, none of that would matter at all. Dorian would just have to pack up his things and try for Orlais. Start over with slimmer chances of success. The thought made him feel very tired. 

Dorian paced around his flat. He straightened out his duvet, washed his coffee cup and watered his little house plant. If he had to go, he’d leave the plant with Bull. Here, please accept this paltry fern. Something to remember me by. He was just considering changing into his running gear when his phone chimed. It was The Iron Bull, asking if he could come to pick Dorian up later today. Would Dorian like to spend the night? 

Dorian considered this. His experiences mostly consisted of quick fucks in hotel rooms. He had certainly never spent the night in anyone’s home. But this was Ferelden, and Bull was his friend. He was willing to bet that Bull’s bed was much more comfortable than his own. “I could be persuaded. I trust you will provide the wine.” 

*

Spending time with Bull was pleasant. He, like Dorian, could hold his own in a conversation about pretty much any subject. Dorian was by no means one for concealing his brilliance. Usually this was met with disdain or desperate attempts at one-upmanship. Bull, on the other hand, accepted Dorian’s expertise in stride, and made it seem like he could listen to Dorian’s opinions all day. Bull himself was more likely to downplay his intelligence, and if the conversation seemed to veer into dangerous waters, pretend he had no strong opinions at all. Dorian would not have it. 

“I will not have you humor me on this, Bull. If you want to change the subject, that’s fine, but I cannot accept that you have nothing to say on the Mortalitasi exhibit being brought to Denerim. I’ve seen the book on Nevarran archeology you have in your bookshelf.” 

Bull looked at Dorian and scowled. His ears moved to match his mood, in the same way elven ears did. Dorian found this delightful and wondered if he should comment on it. The wine was starting to make him a bit light-headed. 

“Fine. I find it creepy, alright. I know that is what you majored in, or whatever it’s called, but necromancy creeps me out. I’m not sure I want those artifacts in Ferelden if they’re… active.” 

“Well, I can’t fault you. It is an extremely creepy and complicated branch of magic. Only the most talented and the most dedicated of mages can master it.”

“Only mages like you, you mean.”

“Yes, exactly. Would you like to pour me more wine, or should we move on to something else that I’m very talented at?”

*

The Iron Bull’s bed was indeed more comfortable than Dorian’s, by several orders of magnitude. The massive headboard had deep scratches, clearly left by Bull’s horns. Better the headboard than the wall, Dorian supposed as he leaned his head against the wooden surface. Then he felt himself being pulled down the bed by the hips like he was a ragdoll, and he couldn’t think about furniture anymore.

Bull’s bathroom was also very comfortable. He had a large bathtub, that Dorian would not mind trying out sometime. Now he just took a quick shower and was amused by the familiar smell of Bull’s shower gel on his own skin. He dried himself off on Bull’s giant bath towel and returned to bed with damp hair. Bull had taken his shower first and had managed to prepare a plate of cheese and saltine crackers for them to eat in the bedroom. 

“We’re going to get crumbs all over your sheets” Dorian noted around his mouthful of exceptional Fereldan cheese. It was good to know these people could get something to taste right. 

“The sheets are already a lost cause. I’ll change them before we sleep. Drink some water. If you have a headache in the morning you’re going to tell me it’s my fault.” 

“That’s because its true. I’m dehydrated because you’ve exhausted me. We’re not all built for such exertion.”

“I’ve seen you training. You’re built just fine. Drink your water, big guy.”

*

In the morning it was coffee, toast, and fruit. Proper coffee, imported from Par Vollen and bought from Denerim by Bull. Dorian had descended to drinking instant coffee in the mornings, mostly because that’s what they had at the corner store. The supermarkets still overwhelmed him. 

The morning light filtered into the kitchen from between the window shades. Dorian sat with his legs folded under him and nurtured his coffee. 

“Your plant has new leaves.”

“Hmm? Yeah. It tends to do that. Grow during the summer, I mean.”

Bull was sitting opposite him. Dorian realized he recognized the tank top he was wearing and smiled into his coffee cup.

“Uh. Hey, Dorian? You awake enough to hear a serious question?”

“Never. I abhor serious questions. What is it?”

“This thing we’ve been having. I like it. I like you. How would you feel about dating? I mean, maybe that’s what we’ve been doing already, I don’t know.”

Dorian looked at Bull’s hands. He was pushing his coffee cup around on the table. He’s nervous, Dorian realized. This man, who most probably left toothmarks on his ass yesterday, is now nervous about asking Dorian to date him. How did Dorian feel about it? Thoughts floated around in Dorian’s head, but refused to settle into an answer.

“I must say I have liked this thing we’ve been having, as well. I feel I should give the matter some consideration. Would that be alright?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure. Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.” 

It was obvious to Dorian that it wasn’t fine. Bull acted in his usual friendly manner all through the morning. He let Dorian feed the dragons from his hand. He rolled his eye at the banal music playing on the car radio. He didn’t kiss Dorian goodbye as he dropped him off. He never had, before, but this time Dorian felt it meant something. 

“I’ll call you.” Dorian said. Bull gave him a small smile. When Dorian got back to his apartment, he realized Bull hadn’t touched him all morning. 

*

Dorian sat on his bed and leaned against the wall. Would opening the window help ease the claustrophobic atmosphere of the apartment, or would the noise of the traffic make him more anxious? He opened the window, and then closed it again after a minute. If he stretched out his hand, he could almost reach the refrigerator door from his bed. But not quite. He got up and fished a slice of yesterday’s pizza from the fridge. He didn’t bother heating it in the microwave. He’d need a plate for that, and he hadn’t done the dishes. 

It had been two days since Bull had asked his question. Dorian had been busy with MMA. Well, to be perfectly honest with himself, he had made himself busy, making minor repairs to the practice targets and cleaning the office containers. The school year would start soon, and the practice sessions were coming to an end. Dorian finished his sorry dinner and started doing the dishes. He should really remember to wash the dish towel next time he did the laundry. After he was finished with the dishes and the small sink was wiped down, he sighed and let himself sit on the floor. He hated his floor. He hated not knowing if he would have a floor, come Parvulis. This really couldn’t go on. He picked himself up and got out his phone.

*

“I do really enjoy your company. And the sex has been exceptional.”

“But now you’re going to let me down gently.” Bull’s voice was steady but strained. Dorian wished he could see his face. Well, there was no helping it now.

“Yes. Or at least, I’m going to tell you I can’t date anyone right now. Do you wish to hear my reasons?”

The Iron Bull did want to hear them. Dorian should have guessed. Bull always wanted to hear what Dorian had to say. Dorian told him that it would be unfair for them both to start something now, when Dorian could be forced to pack up his life and leave on a moment’s notice. There was no living in Ferelden without the necessary documents. He could be deported to Tevinter, if caught. Of course, Bull knew all this, and had asked him anyway. It was most chivalrous of him. Dorian was flattered, and if the situation was different, well… And so on. 

“If you are willing, I would not mind continuing the arrangement we had. I truly mean it about the exceptional sex. But that is up to you.”

What Dorian did not say was that starting a relationship with Bull would be all too easy. He could sleep between Bull’s fresh sheets and make him coffee in his neat and airy kitchen in the mornings. As the days went on, Dorian would spend less and less time at his own apartment. He could let Bull drive him everywhere, or just borrow his truck. One day, when he would finally remember to go water his withering fern, there would be a letter waiting for him. And then it could go either way. If the news was bad, he would cry as he stuffed his belongings to his back. He would ask the Bull to drive him to the border. They would make promises or not. Either way, it would be over. 

If the news was good, they could carry on as they had. He could host a party at the garage to celebrate the occasion. Krem wouldn’t mind. Dorian would maybe let go of his apartment altogether and move in with Bull. He could give enough private tutoring lessons to maintain a fiction of pulling his own weight. Who would he be in a year’s time, this person who, in his exhaustion, forgot his ambitions and was seduced into a life of placidity by the promise of creature comforts?

“Yeah. I’ll have to get back to you on that. Thanks for being honest with me, Dorian.”

They ended the call on a friendly note. Dorian sat on the floor for a long time, blinking up into the ceiling.

*

The Iron Bull didn’t get back to him on that, or on anything. Dorian didn’t have much time to worry about it, because Krem’s prediction turned out to be false. Someone in the immigration office had decided to get some work done right before Summerday, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

“Andraste’s holy tits! I’ll bloody well kill you, you ambulatory shite!” 

“Sera, that was a very big word. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Dorian said mildly and took a drink from his watery Fereldan beer.

They were sitting at their familiar table at the sports bar. There was an envelope on the table between them. Lavellan’s face was slowly lighting up with a smile. 

“You called us here for ‘farewell drinks’! I almost crashed the car hearing that! You won’t live to see your new I.D. card, you bastard!” Suddenly Sera was clambering over the table and Dorian found himself hugged from within an inch of his life. Archers really did have very strong arms. There was a hint of wetness against his cheek. Dorian suspected his own eyeliner might be in danger, as well. He felt Lavellan’s hand on his arm, squeezing.

The letter had arrived that morning. Dorian had managed to open it some hours later. It had taken him the rest of the day to take a shower, make himself presentable and then text the elves. 

Permanent residence granted for humanitarian reasons. That was what the letter said. Seeing the words had had a strange impact on Dorian. Some nameless, faceless bureaucrat had looked at his application, and measured the details of his life against the rigid, cataloged criteria of proper treatment of human beings. They had read his story and decided that no, what Dorian had gone through in Tevinter was not, according to Fereldan law, acceptable. Dorian had known that, intellectually, of course. It would still take him some time to come to terms with it all.

“Now what?” Lavellan asked.

“Now I’m going to get in touch with the Council of Fereldan Circles. If they will have me in their program, I’ll make Senior Enchanter within two years.”

“And will they have you?” Lavellan pressed.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m only one of the few leading experts on necromancy who is not bound by Mortalitasi confidentiality obligations. If one counts only those who reside south of the Sea, speak fluent Common and are younger than eighty years old, well, I might be the only one. But who knows, I might get lucky.” 

“That is not how people humble brag.” Sera advised and took a drink from his beer. 

*

In Frumentum, Dorian was starting to settle into his new life. He had returned to his necromancy research as a Junior Enchanter of the Calenhad Circle. He would be stationed in Denerim for the next year or so, where he could study the Mortalitasi exhibit and help manage the levels of magical residue emitting from the volatile relics. His scholarship came complete with a decent downtown apartment, and the free use of the best MMA training facilities in the country. He was also invited to all sorts of parties, from the boring and prestigious to the fun and mildly sordid, so he didn’t see any reason to complain.

Well, he might have complained a little when he experienced his first sleet, but that was only because he had ruined his Antivan shoes walking through it. At least he now had enough money to go shopping for clothes more suited for the uncivilized climate. He’d even made some friends who he could invite along to compliment on his good taste.

In Umbralis, he called The Iron Bull.

“As you are undoubtedly aware, the enthusiast that you are, there is a dragon exhibit in town. If you find yourself inclined to visit Denerim, it would be my pleasure to act as your local guide. If you wish to spare yourself the cost of a hotel room, my humble apartment does have a guest room. I will provide the wine.”

*

“Shit, look at you” said The Iron Bull.

Dorian rather thought he didn’t look all that different. He had been careful not to overdress. One shouldn’t seem too eager to impress.

“You look taller. Like you’re more… you.” 

Dorian had to swallow down some strange emotion he didn’t know what to do with.

“I suppose that was a compliment, so thank you. You seem completely like yourself, as well.”

Bull laughed. “Yeah, let’s just say we’re complementing each other and go from there.”

Dorian found the dragon exhibit interesting enough, but Bull was ecstatic. His enthusiasm was genuine and unapologetic. He seemed to carry with him some essential part of summer, that Dorian couldn’t quite identify. Maybe it was the familiar way he smelled, or the warmth of his body when he leaned close to point at some detail of the scales of a Fereldan Frostback.

Later, they went to Dorian’s place. They stayed up late, sitting on Dorian’s couch and drinking Rivaini wine. Bull was still buzzing with the excitement of the dragon exhibit. He hadn’t talked about much else, and that was fine with Dorian. He was quite content just sitting there. Bull was indeed completely like he had been. It was Dorian who felt different. Like he had all the time in the world.

“Hey, Dorian?” 

“Yes?” 

“I have something for you. It’s from Sera. She says you should get better at texting her back.”

“Her texts are just various vegetable emojis. I have yet to decipher them.”

Sera’s gift turned out to be a t-shirt with its left sleeve ripped off. It was adorned with complicated graffiti-like text that read ‘Magical Martial Arts Association’. Dorian supposed the text had been painted by hand. It was very ugly, if not completely devoid of artistic merit. Dorian was oddly touched. 

“You must arrange a party of some sort at the garage. Otherwise I’ll never have a change to wear this anywhere. I’m certainly not letting Sera drag me to any rock concerts again.” 

“You could wear it anywhere and make it work.” said Bull. It wasn’t much of an opening. Dorian didn’t really need one. It was just that Bull was apparently done talking about dragons, and there was now space for something else. Dorian felt steady and clear-headed, here in his own apartment. He touched his hand to the base of Bull’s horn, ran his thumb down along the path of the scar until he reached the corner of Bull’s lips.

“Bull. I want you to know that I didn’t decline your offer lightly, or for lack of interest. I’m not sorry I did it. But it was not easy for me.” 

“I know. You’re honest like that. You’re not afraid to do the right thing. I’d ask you again, but I don’t want to piss you off.” Bull looked him straight in the eye. There was no need for anxiety here. 

“That’s smart of you. I’m formidable when I’m pissed off. Anyone in the Minrathous Circle could tell you that. Maybe I should be the one to do the asking.”

“Yeah, Tevinter? You looking to start something?” said The Iron Bull with a voice that was maybe meant to be playfully menacing but missed the mark entirely. He put his huge hand on Dorian’s neck. Dorian tried for a sly smile but couldn’t help the happy little laugh that escaped his lips instead. He had no more quips in him. He pressed his thumb against Bull’s lips and leaned in. 

There was no need to use the guest room. His bed was, after all, every bit as comfortable as The Iron Bull’s.

*

In the morning he was in the kitchen making breakfast, wearing Sera’s shirt, when The Iron Bull suddenly cracked up laughing. 

“What in the Maker’s name is the matter with you, Bull?”

“Did you read that text on your shirt? Like, really read it?”

“Hmm? It just says… Fasta vass.”

The shirt read “Magical Martial Farts Association”.

Dorian would have to visit Sera and Lavellan soon. There was revenge to be had.

**Author's Note:**

> Sera's listening to Birdy by 22-pistepirkko.


End file.
